


In my Dreams

by SweetDesire



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bag End, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:39:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3277064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDesire/pseuds/SweetDesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So many had died and it would haunt the hobbit's sleep forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In my Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :D
> 
> So this is basically me trying to do a one-shot about The Hobbit  
> I had this kind of image in my mind in which Bilbo would sit leaning against that Oak and and talk about his nightmares to it. The Oak would give him comfort and remind him of Thorin (which basically made me cry again :'D )
> 
> So I hope you like it !
> 
> No beta, if there a mistakes feel free to contact me.

_In my Dreams_

 

* * *

 

The hobbit trashed around in his warm and cozy bed, the sheets all but tangled around him. His forehead plastered with sweat, his delicate sandy locks clinging to it as he threw his head around. In his dreams he always relived what had happened long ago. The death of so many, it would haunt the mans sleep forever.

A hobbit was not made for adventure or war but he had seen it nonetheless, had experienced what it meant to win and to lose at the same time. His grief was still there, it choked on his heart and made it hard to breath. At daytime he would keep himself busy. But as soon as the sun began to set Bilbo would become anxious. He stayed up as late as possible, just before he would fall asleep reading in his armchair he would go to bed and hope for a dreamless night. 

But Mahal or whatever deity would not grant him that.

 

As soon as sleep had claimed him images flooded his head. Images of fire, flying arrows and death but even worse were the sounds, gushing screaming sounds of terror which echoed in his head. As soon as he opened his eyes the hobbit was in the middle of it all. Swords and axes clashing together, battlecries all around him and Thorin. He would stand in the middle of it all. Like the Lonely Mountain itself he stood and watched with his back to Bilbo.

And as soon as Bilbo began to run screaming and reaching for Thorin, the dwarf would slowly start to turn around. As he turned Bilbo would see a long Orc-made sword stick out of his chest. His face had lost all its life. It was full of bruises and his stormy blue eyes were now faded gray. As much as he wanted to, Bilbo could not move anymore. His feet seemed to have suddenly decided to turn on their master. The hobbit would drop to his knees, tears clouding his sight as he screamed for the King under the Mountain but the dwarf would no longer hear him.

Thorin Oakenshiled dropped onto the dusty ground one hand reaching out to the far away hobbit his face pleading and his eyes wide with fear. Bilbo collapsed and around him they still fought their reckless war not knowing their king was dead.

 

Bilbo screamed. He sat on the edge of his bed and drew ragged breaths wiping away tears that had started to dwell. When he had calmed down enough the hobbit would look around to find that the sun had began to rise. It was still early but Bilbo would not go back to sleep. He grabbed his pipe and coat and made his way on top of his hobbit-hole. There stood an oak tree. It was massive and extended over his hobbit-hole like a shield. An Oakenshield.

Bilbo sat down leaning against the trunk of the tree and smoked his pipe. The hobbit watched the sun rise and his spirits rose with it. He came here every day after he had that dream to find some piece, because this Oak was special and important to him. It felt to Bilbo as if the tree held him and ceased his fears….like a friend he had once known.


End file.
